By Fernanda Sarti

She met him in the liminal hours of travel, suspended between departure and return, when everything felt possible and nothing promised. 

At the bar, he leaned against the counter, sleeves pushed to his elbows, his white shirt catching the glow of the lights. His smile was easy, unstudied, and his blue eyes—clear, startling, beautiful—found hers before either spoke. 

One drink became two and laughter spilled between them as if they’d waiting for years. His hand found the small of her back, tentative, almost questioning. She didn’t push him away. Instead, she leaned into his touch, closing the space between them. 

Their words flowed like wine, but when conversation gave way to silence, it wasn’t empty—it was charged, alive, brimming with what came next. She felt it like a current under her skin, as if some hidden part of her had known him before—across oceans, across time. 

Around them the music throbbed, lights flickered, bodies pressed close. Butterflies drifted from the ceiling, their delicate wings catching the shimmer of the room. And then, they kissed. 

The moment cracked open: slow, weightless, infinite. The bass vanished, the crowd dissolved, and there were only the two of them, lips meeting beneath a constellation of wings.  

The kiss tasted forbidden, impossible to refuse—her body had already chosen for her. Time faltered, stretching into something softer, as though the universe itself wanted to hold them in that kiss a little longer. 

The night unfolded in a borrowed hotel room, desire blazing reckless and bright, as if it knew it couldn’t last. Their bodies learned each other without hesitation, as if language were unnecessary. 

Every kiss was hunger and release; every touch a reminder that life was more than schedules and departure gates. Between breaths and laughter, they collided fully, surrendering to the urgency of being alive on that fleeting night. 

They did not pretend it would last. They were honest in their impermanence: she would return to her world, and he to his skies. Different places, different lives, each pulled by their own gravity. But that night, those hours, they belonged entirely to one another. 

When dawn came, she traced the curve of his jaw one last time, committing it to memory. He kissed her like a promise not to forget. And then, as quietly as they had found each other, they parted, carrying the ache of goodbye. 

They boarded separate flights. And though they might never meet again, each carried the quiet hope that the skies might cross for them once more, somewhere beyond this night. 

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Fernanda Sarti is a Brazilian-American writer based in Minnesota. Her work explores themes of love, longing, and the in-between spaces of life. She is submitting her first flash fiction for consideration. Outside of writing, Fernanda is a crisis leader and cybersecurity expert. In her free time, she volunteers as a private investigator for missing person’s cases. She is currently working on her debut novel and is the proud mom of two Siberian huskies.